


With the Curve

by Dekka



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:06:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/Dekka
Summary: Sometimes life likes to kick you when you're already down.AKA: Auston vows to never go to bed angry





	With the Curve

**Author's Note:**

> !!warnings!!
> 
> (Also in tags) 
> 
> Non-con: there's a person who advances physically on Mitch, who is clearly not consenting  
> Attempted Sexual Assault  
> Panic attacks: Mitch has one, nearly two in the aftermath of being harassed 
> 
> Disclaimer: this is completely fiction

Everyone likes to pretend that their relationships are perfect, but people are human, prone to mistakes and miscommunications, and, occasionally, prone to fucking up. 

Today, Mitch thinks he may have fucked up. 

What started as a normal argument, nothing but mild annoyance being readily shared, ended as a screaming match between him and Auston, both of them trying to talk over each other to not only be heard, but to be listened to, too. 

Mitch was honestly kind of overwhelmed with the way Auston started yelling at him and it forced him to react in kind. He’s just not used to people being mad at him, and even less accustomed to them spitting their anger in his face. 

So, at the time, flustered and upset, he brought up a sore subject, something that was told to him in confidence, Auston trusting him with one of his deepest insecurities, and he kept picking at it. 

From there, their normal run-of-the-mill petty fight turned sour, biting words exchanged with intent to bruise. 

They had never fought like that before and by that point Mitch didn't even know how to pump the breaks when he needed to. 

If he could, he’d like to blame it all on the stress of being twenty and forced in the spot light, but he doesn’t want to excuse his behavior or Auston’s. They just hit a low point. Sometimes that happens. 

What doesn’t “sometimes happen” is them leaving a fight unresolved; Auston slamming the bedroom door closed when they get home, a clear sign for Mitch to stay away. 

He knows he fucked up and he’s felt terrible from the second his own biting words joined the screaming match, but Auston’s no innocent party here, either. 

He’s said things today that Mitch doesn’t even know how he’s supposed to come back from. 

The doorknob to what Mitch has been considering ‘their’ room for over two months now turns slowly, and it’s then that he realizes he’s just been staring at the closed door in anger and shock. 

Mitch is just cognizant enough to scramble for his phone, pretending to look casual as Auston exits their room and brushes past him, to the front door. 

For a heart-stopping second Mitch thinks Auston’s going home, but they have Willy’s birthday to go to tonight. Only the sight of Auston’s tight black button down reminds him. 

Mitch bought him that shirt for Christmas last year and he looks as good as ever in it, even though Mitch won’t be telling him so. He’s not used to biting his tongue, not since they came out to the team, and somehow it hurts more now, knowing he could say something but that he doesn’t _want_ to. 

“I need to change, still,” he says, to stop Auston from setting the security alarm for them to leave. The words feel out of place, almost unwelcome in the air between them. 

Mitch shifts uneasily, half expecting Auston to just walk out. 

“Change, then,” he says instead. 

Mitch still hovers. He’s not used to feeling unsure with the person in this world he’s most comfortable with. 

There’s an apology on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t want to be the first to say it. Even though he crossed some boundaries today, it was Auston who brought up the fight, Auston who started yelling, and Auston that drove him to tears before he even retaliated in kind. 

If they were in front of a judge, Mitch would blame self defense for his own thorough tongue-lashing of Auston’s character. 

“We’re late,” Auston snaps, startling Mitch. It makes his resolve harden as he retreats to the bedroom. 

-

The car ride to the bar is easily worse than the one they had earlier while they were still fighting. 

Now that they’re too angry and hurt for words, there’s nothing to say. 

The loaded silence between them is so heavy that Mitch doubts Auston would even hear him through the weight of it if he tried to talk.

It doesn’t help that both of them didn't even want to go out tonight to begin with, especially when Willy picked the seediest bar in all of Toronto. 

The place is predictably and disgustingly crowded, bodies everywhere, even as they wait in the entryway for the bouncer to lead them to Willy’s reserved area. 

This is normally when Auston would place a hand at the small of his back, keeping him close and anyway from the sea of people milling about, waiting for their own tables. The gesture wouldn’t be noticeable or incriminating, but it’d be a presence none the less, a sign that he’s there. 

Tonight, though, he doesn’t do anything, his hands clenched at his sides even when Mitch is forced back against his chest as a girl excuses herself to head toward the exit. 

The second she’s gone, Mitch takes a step away from Auston, giving them both much needed space. 

He hates the way the distance between them makes Auston’s shoulders loosen, like he’s strung tight by Mitch’s proximity alone. 

Too busy sinking into the defeated feeling shrouding his chest, Mitch doesn’t notice the guy stumbling towards him. A foot away he can smell the liquor wafting off of him in waves, but by that time the man is tripping over himself, falling into Mitch and pushing him back a good three feet as he’s forced to steady himself and the stranger. 

Another stranger against his back steadies him, and the drunken guy pushes onward as if nothing’s happened, not even glancing back at the disturbance he’s caused. 

Naturally, Mitch’s eyes float to Auston’s, but his boyfriend is still unmoving, even though his eyes glare daggers into the stranger’s back. 

Any other night Mitch knows that Auston would be following after the guy, probably to exchange unpleasant words and force an apology. He’s not much of a fighter, but Auston’s never been scared to speak up, using his body as an advantage to warn off others from trying to take him out back for a round. 

Mitch has never been fond of his boyfriend’s confrontational manner, but knowing that now, because of their fight, he wont say anything, makes something settle unpleasantly in his throat. 

He knows he’s being ridiculous, but he wonders what else Auston would ignore, and it really fucking hurts, thinking that his boyfriend couldn’t care less.

-

Auston is tense like a pulled string and their less than stellar start of the night has him leaving Mitch at Marty’s side the second they pass ‘heys’ so that he can head off towards the bar. 

He needs at least two shots if he wants to put on a happy front right now. 

“Cheers!” Willy hollers. He’s more than happy to match Auston drink for drink, making him feel less pathetic as they clink their glasses before each go, even though the bar top is barely visible amongst alcohol, arms, napkins, and empty plates. 

“This place is a dive,” Auston yells over the music. He’s barely been there for ten minutes and already his hands are sticky with God-only-knows what. 

“I know,” Willy smiles back, “I love it.” 

Auston cant argue with that- birthday boy’s wishes and all. 

Even with people pressing in at all sides, they still stay there, hovering for a disgusting amount of time. Anything is better than the section of booths they have roped off for them, though, because he knows Mitch is probably there, fake smile alerting everyone of the shitty-fucking-things Auston said to him today. 

“You guys good?” Will asks, when he notices Auston’s gaze glued to their tables. 

He’s ready to unload it all when he sees the concern starting to flood his linemate’s eyes. He can’t do that to Willy, especially on his birthday. 

“We’re okay,” he promises, even as the pit in his stomach grows and festers under the lie. 

-

It doesn’t take long for something bad to happen in the bar, and really, Auston isn’t surprised, with the shithole they’re in. 

He just never expects Marty to be the one who pulls his eyes from the douchebag that’s being dragged, screaming and bloody, to the exit by a group of bouncers. 

“Mitchy,” Marty says in explanation of his presence, almost frantic and more than a little out of breath. 

Auston shrugs, “What about him?” 

Knowing Mitch, he probably had one too many, or tripped over something, or is somewhere off embarrassing himself. 

The disbelieving look he gets from Marty from his callus response makes the annoyance he’s feeling triple. 

“What? I can’t have one night where I don’t have to watch his back? He’s a grown up, he can take care of himself. I’m not his keeper.” The words feel terribly satisfying, especially against the shock on his teammate’s faces. 

He tosses down the last of his drink with a wave for another to the bartender. 

“Auston,” Willy whispers, unbelieving, just loud enough to be heard. He sounds hurt and it pisses Auston off more. Sometimes his teammates like to forget that Mitch is a fucking grown up too, thank you. He doesn’t always need someone babysitting him. 

“When you pull your head out of your ass,” Marty hisses, his tone and anger shocking Auston, “come to the booth. Mitch probably needs his boyfriend right now. But you know what, you keep drinking, keep having a fun time. Way to be, man.” It’s the obvious disappointment radiating off of Matt more than anything that feels like a punch to the gut. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Auston hits right back, admittedly less argumentative. His new drink is placed in front of him and that’s all that matters. He takes a gulp, then another, trying to appear less hostile than he feels under the heat of Marty’s glare. 

“Dude,” Willy tries, but Auston brushes away his touch and his concern. Matt isn’t as gentle, gruffly yanking him around to face them. 

“I’d punch the shit out of you right now if it wouldn’t make Mitch even more mad,” Marty tells him through gritted teeth, his statement painfully honest if the way his hands are clenching at his sides is anything to go by. 

Auston still hasn’t met his gaze, but finally he lets his eyes slip up to his, a challenge more than anything. 

“Do it,” he taunts, squaring up, but Willy’s hand is already against his chest and Marty’s, pushing them apart. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Matt asks, holding out a hand to keep Will from pushing him away. 

Auston’s done skirting around the issue. “Me and Mitch got in a fight, but that doesn’t mean you all need to stick your necks in our shit. I’m just not going to take care of his problems tonight. Whatever it is, he can grow the fuck up and deal with it himself.” 

Marty’s mouth hangs open, silent, Willy next to him just as still. 

“You and Mitch?” he asks, eventually, as if in disbelief that they argue like every other couple. 

Auston nods, downs the rest of his drink, and motions for a third. 

“I didn’t even know anything happened,” Marty tells him. He seems honest enough in the moment, but Auston’s still annoyed that he’s coming to him to fix one of Mitch’s problems after everything that happened between them today. 

“So what happened then? Why’re you even over here?” Auston asks as he pushes his drink into Willy’s hand, feeling the two he downed and his previous shots starting to give him a buzz he’s not quite sure he needs right now.

“Didn’t you see it?” Marty asks, genuinely confused. 

Auston rolls his eyes. As much as his teammates like to think his eyes are glued to Mitch, they’re not. 

“No, like I said, Mitch is a grown up, I don’t need to fucking babysit him in a bar.” 

Marty looks uncomfortable all of a sudden and it makes Auston uneasy. There’s obvious anger still dancing in his eyes, but there’s a hesitancy there, too. 

“You didn't see the guy that got dragged out?” Marty asks. 

Auston nods, not liking where this is going, “yeah, so?” 

His stomach starts to really sink at the apologetic look Matt sends him. “He just- that guy was getting handsy with Mitch and he shoved him before Patty started clobbering the shit out of him.” 

Auston’s mind jumps first to imagining Patty in a fight before the rest of Matt’s words really sink in. 

“Mitchy?” he parrots, disbelieving. He’s not feeling anything but the physicality of heat around his neck, dripping down to his spine unpleasantly. 

He shivers as he takes his drink back from Willy just to press his hands to something cold. 

“Yeah, Auston, Mitch,” Marty answers. His hands, that were ready to punch him a minute ago, now settle firm on Auston’s arm, grounding him. 

“Can I see him?” he finds himself asking. He still feels behind, like he’s lagging, like his brain is ten steps away, trying to alter under what he knows. 

“Yeah, man, but are you okay?” 

Auston stutters over a half-answer as the hand on his arm pulls him from the bar, his drink forgotten as he’s led through the crowd, walking on auto-pilot. The bodies pressing in feel unreal, the light dancing oddly over their faces making Auston dizzy. 

Mitch, when Auston sees him, is curled in the middle of a booth, a half-circle of teammates on each side of him as a makeshift shield. His shoulders are hunched and his eyes are vacant, even though Auston can tell that Patty and Mo are trying to get him talking, their hands on his back as if trying to ease him into his body. 

He’s a beacon in a place like this, grounding Auston as he breaks through the first wave of the crowd. Nothing in him can comprehend why they’re still here. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, putting on the brakes, shakily pushing his hair from his face. 

Marty is decent enough to stop with him, crowding in close to comfort him under the disguise of needing to hear Auston above the noise. 

“What happened?” Auston asks, again. He cant go into this wild with anger, not when Mitch so clearly needs comfort and not with the way they left things earlier. 

Marty frowns, glances over the crowd around them, then sighs, giving in. “That guy just kept bothering him and touching him and Mitch told him to fuck off, more than once, but he was persistent, and then he followed us over to the lounge and by the time I saw Mitch again he was pushing the guy off of him and then he was being shoved to the ground and then Patty fucking descended, man.” 

Auston’s chest feels tight, his stomach sick with worry. “Was Mitch hurt?”

The look he gets in response is painfully sympathetic. “He seems…out of it,” Marty answers, choosing his words carefully. 

Auston takes slow, steading breaths through his nose, counts to five, then pushes past Matt to jog the rest of the way to Mitch. 

He sees his boyfriend look up at him, but then, quick as he glanced up, his eyes go back down to staring at the table. His cheeks are red, like he’s embarrassed. 

Something about it has Auston’s stomach twisting violently, his mind tracing over confusion as to why Mitch would so blatantly not want to see him and why he’d even be ashamed that some douche got physical. He can only guess that Mitch is still hurt from their fight and that, on top of everything else, breaks him. 

“Mitchy, common babe, let me clean you up,” he begs. The guys have already started getting out of the booth to let Mitch up, but Mitch shakes his head, ‘no,’ the movement forcing a tear falling down his cheek to drop. 

“Mitchy, common,” Morgan tries then, gentle. 

Auston can see that his boyfriend’s hands are shaking around the glass of water he’s holding, but his grip loosens just as he starts to work his way out of the booth. 

Against the relief flooding through his system, Auston’s eyes slip closed around a silent prayer, a thank you. 

Marty has to help Mitch up, a hand on his elbow keeping him steady as Mitch struggles to stay standing on barely-there legs. 

When Auston crowds in against him, he does it deliberately slow, just in case Mitch isn’t ready to have him so close. 

Even with the thrum of music around them the moment feels muted, everything boiling down to the shaky breath Mitch drags in before he seems to give in to Auston’s proximity. 

“Can we leave?” he asks, his eyes glued to the floor, barely glancing up for seconds at a time. 

Still careful, Auston places a gentle hand around his waist and holds his ground as Mitch flinches until he’s relaxing into the hold, his body practically melting into the touch. 

“Of course, Mitchy,” Auston soothes. 

They get a security detail to the car; Mo, Marty, Patty, Hainsey, and Freddie following them out under the claims that they’re all heading home, too. The night’s still early, Auston doubts any of them are ready for bed. 

The ride home is silent for much different reasons this time. 

“What all happened?” Auston asks eventually, once he physically can no longer stand listening to Mitch’s hitched breathing. 

“It was just some idiot,” he brushes off. 

Auston glances over, seeing him rub away tears. 

His own hand tightens on the steering wheel. 

“Mitchy,” he starts, but he’s cut off, “He just grabbed at me, it was nothing.” 

Mitch sounds too affected for it to be ‘just nothing.’ 

“I’ll ask Patty, then,” Auston snipes, “sure seemed like something to him.” 

His anger only makes everything worse, Mitch vocally choking over a sob. From the corner of his eye Auston can see Mitchy’s hand jump up to try to smother the sound. 

He’s never hated himself more. 

“Baby,” he tries, apologetic, but the endearment has Mitch squaring up, tense in his seat. “Don’t call me that.” 

In shock, Auston’s left stuttering over words he cant find, mind frantically running over how to get back in Mitch’s favor. 

“No- It’s not you,” Mitch whispers, seeing Auston’s reaction. 

He feels sick with relief even as his stomach bottoms out. “Why?” he asks, hopeful and naive when he knows the answer. 

Even feet away and with the radio playing softly, Auston can hear the air Mitch shallows down, as if preparing himself. 

“It’s stupid. He just kept call me it,” he finally says. 

At this rate their steering wheel will be nothing but dust in Auston’s hands by the time they get home. 

He doesn’t understand why Mitch wont tell him everything that happened and it’s making his brain fill in the blanks. 

“We can press charges,” he says. He’s careful to watch Mitch’s reaction. 

His boyfriend’s gaze goes distant even as he scoffs, “no, no way. It wasn’t a big deal.” 

Patrick Marleau doesn’t beat a man bloody over nothing. Whatever he saw enraged him to the point of violence. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Auston says, gentle. “This isn’t your fault.” 

Mitch is carefully silent and when Auston glances over he’s worrying at his hand, his nails leaving marks in the meat of his palm. 

The response he gets sickens him. “Could’ve sworn you said earlier that I never step up, never take responsibility, that I always wait for someone else to fix my problems.” 

Mitch laughs but it’s a sound of distress, of craze. 

“Mitchy-” Auston tries, but next to him Mitch’s breaths are coming heavier and heavier, a disturbingly long pause between each frantic pull of air. 

Auston barely registers what he’s doing as he pulls over, throws his door open, and runs to Mitch’s side. The passenger’s side door is only open a foot before Mitch is slumping, tumbling forward into his chest. 

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Auston soothes. He’s too shocked to do anything but hold Mitch, trying to ground him to something. 

“Breathe,” he coaches. 

His hand has started running up and down the spans of Mitch’s back, working to ease his boyfriend’s trembling body. 

“What I said,” he whispers fiercely, “was shit.” 

Mitch chokes on another gut-wrenching sob. 

“I let him touch me. I let him say all those things, I let him do all those things. I waited until Patty came to fix it, you’re right. I never step up. I never do.” Each admission is dragged out of his throat like blades, still as he chokes on air. 

“No, Mitchy, _no_.” 

Auston has to punch against the door just to keep his grip on Mitch soothing as he’s overcome by anger- at himself, at the guy, at everything that happened today that led them to this point. 

“This isn’t your fault,” he repeats, stern. “Marty even said you told the guy to fuck off, and why did he shove you?” 

Mitch sucks in air, scrubbing at his eyes. “Because I pushed him,” he answers. 

“And before that?” Auston tests, cradling Mitch’s face, seeing that this, at least, is bringing him around. 

“I swore at him, I told him no, I moved to a different part of the bar,” Mitch tells him. 

“And if Patty hadn’t stepped in, would you have stopped trying to fight him?” 

Mitch finally glances up at him, breathing even. “No.” 

Auston pulls him back into the safety of his arms, pressing a bruising kiss to his forehead. 

“I didnt mean anything I said today. I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Mitch nods against his chest, “I’m sorry, too.” 

Even on the side of the road, Mitch’s tremors slowing as cars whip past them, the moment feels tranquil. 

Auston doesn’t want to ruin it with the question he knows he has to ask again, but it’s inevitable, “are you sure you don’t want to press charges?” If he does they need to do it now. 

Before Mitch can even protest again Auston quiets him, “He harassed you. He nearly fucking assaulted you and there was physical force used against you. You have more than enough reasons to charge him.”

This time Mitch thinks about it before finally shaking his head ‘no,’ so Auston accepts it even as anger floods him. He realizes that this isn’t his choice. 

“Patty gave the guy enough grief,” Mitch jokes, but it’s weak. 

Auston forces a smile anyway, “so did you, Mouse.” The nickname, at least, gets a genuine huff of barely-there laughter.

“Can we go home now?” Mitch asks. 

Auston nods, pressing another kiss to his forehead, waiting for him to turn around in the seat to close his door for him. 

The rest of the drive is still silent, but it’s not oppressive or weighing on them.

Even home feels aired out of the bad weight that had settled over it this afternoon. 

“Why don’t you shower and pick out a movie?” Auston asks as he strips down and throws his keys and wallet on the counter. 

Mitch has stayed hovering not even three feet from him ever since they left the car, and even now he doesn’t move away. 

“Mitchy, talk to me,” Auston prods, pulling Mitch into his chest as they lean against the kitchen counter. He can feel each breath Mitch is dragging in. 

“I don’t want to be alone, but if it annoys you that I cling to you so much then I don’t want to force you to stick around me,” he admits. 

Auston’s breath leaves him like a punch. 

He’s hating every anger-fueled word he’s said today while they fought. 

“Did you mean what you said to me?” he asks, instead of giving a response. 

Mitch shakes his head quickly, “no, Auston, never.” 

It’s enough. 

Auston gears himself up to apologize again, not really used to it, especially with Mitch. “I believe you, so please believe me. I was angry and jealous and I was taking it out on you and I’m sorry.” 

“Jealous?” Mitch asks, pulling back just enough to look up at him. 

Auston can feel his cheeks heat. “Yeah, just everyone likes you, Mitchy. And sometimes I just feel like people look at us together and they just think I’m this parasite, leeching off of you and making you unhappy.” 

Mitch punches him, hard, on the arm. 

“Who said that,” he threatens. 

It’s honestly a little hot and kind of cute and Auston can’t stop a smile from breaking over his face. 

“Cool it, Rocky, you’ve been in enough fights tonight,” he laughs. 

Mitch isn’t letting it drop. “You sound like you’re quoting someone else. Tell me.” 

Auston lets his forehead drop against Mitch’s, his hands skirting lower to circle his waist. 

“Some of the guys were teasing, I guess. I just wasn’t really in the mood for it. Everything they said kind of struck close to home.” Even as he shrugs Mitch levels him with a stare. 

“Half the time you’re the reason I’m smiling,” he says, fierce. Auston bets if their teammates were around right now Mitch would be taking them to church, powerpoint slides and everything to nail his point home. 

“I was just in a weird mood, it’s fine. I’m sorry I was such a dick this morning,” he apologies again. This one feels less heavy. 

“I’m sorry too,” Mitch promises. 

Auston shushes him with a kiss. “You wouldn’t have anything to apologize for if I didn’t start this.” 

“Still,” Mitch says. There’s an amount of relief that floods Auston, even under the awful circumstances of their night. 

“Do you want me to shower with you?” he asks. Mitch’s smile spreads wider. “Yes, please.” 

-

The only physical reminder of the night is Mitch’s bruised hip, a purplish-blue mark from getting shoved down shrouding his skin. As they shower water cascades over it peacefully as if trying to wash it away. 

Auston’s hands find themselves skirting over the mark, then following the water droplets up, to Mitch’s chest. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, again, just to be sure. 

Mitch nods, but it’s shaky. “I don’t want to think about it,” he says. 

Auston presses a kiss to his cheek, then his shoulder, then the base of his neck. “You’re okay, I’m here,” he whispers, lips tracing the shell of Mitch’s ear. 

His breathing is shaky now for a different reason, the intimate hold leaving him groaning through gasp-opened lips. 

They both know neither of them could even think about having sex right now, but still, the closeness feels grounding, bringing them back into the safety of each other, of their familiarity. 

The water turns cold before they manage to pull themselves from the spray.

“Put on sweats and my Scottsdale hoodie,” Auston commands, gentle, pushing Mitch towards their closet. 

He gets a dramatic frown, but Mitch goes anyway, bundled up in three different towels while Auston pats himself dry with a washcloth. The hilarity of it has him smiling to himself, padding out naked into their bedroom. 

Mitch is already under the covers by then, his head the only thing visible under the marshmallow-like puff of their comforter. 

“Did you pick a movie?” Auston asks, digging through their drawer for boxers. He doesn’t even want to bother with a shirt; he knows Mitch will glue himself to him and he’ll be overheating in no time. 

“I want to watch Friends, but I want to talk, too,” he says, surprising Auston. It puts some added rush in his movements as he pulls back the blankets just enough to slip under while keeping the warmth trapped inside.

Mitch doesn’t waste time, burrowing into his side and resting his head on his chest. On the tv mounted across from them season one plays. 

Like their closeness, Mitch doesn’t waste time easing them into the conversation, either. He starts at the beginning, quick as if trying to trick himself into getting the whole story out in one, emotionless go. 

“He started talking to me right when me and Marty grabbed drinks,” Mitch starts, “He kept leaning in to talk to me, I thought he just liked the team or something, but then he started saying shit.” 

Auston’s hand traces Mitch’s shoulder blade under the hoodie, a soothing back and forth motion that’s keeping him calm. It’s a reminder of where they are now, safe in bed. 

“Every time he’d say something his hand would go to my hip or arm, and he kept trying to pull me into the crowd.” 

Auston can’t help but guiltily remember that all of this happened as he was pounding drinks. 

“Then the stuff he was saying got- just, it was disgusting, vulgar stuff. So I asked Marty if we could move and him and Patty came with me more towards the back- by the restrooms kind of?” 

He nods to let Mitch know he’s following. 

“I thought he’d leave me alone, then. I told him to before anyway, but then when he came back again Marty and Patty were getting us drinks and he started really going for it.” 

Auston can hear Mitch’s breathing getting harsher, his tone more vacant, disconnected. 

“He was pulling at my shirt and kept getting his hands under my clothes so I pushed him and he got really mad and started dragging me back towards the bathroom.” 

“Breathe, Mitchy, you’re here,” Auston has to remind him. He squeezes him an ounce tighter, buries a kiss in his hair, and prays his growing anger stays tampered down. 

“I really put my weight down, I tried to just go limp because I heard that’s what you’re supposed to do, but he kind of just held me then and he kind of groped me and so the second I had my footing I tried to push him as far away from me as I could so that I could go back to Marty and Patty.” 

He’s really shaking, now, stuttering over his breaths. Auston doesn’t know if he should stop him or let him get it all out. 

Mitch is continuing before he can make a decision, “But it didn’t work, he just got angrier and by the time I had even turned around Marty and Patts were coming back and he was shoving me to the floor.” 

“Patty took care of him from there?” Auston asks, gentle. He’s starting to worry over how fast Mitch is breathing but the question seems to ground him as he nods. 

“Yeah, Marty just helped me up and dropped me off at the table and went to find you,” Mitch explains. 

It makes Auston feel sick that he sat there so long without him. 

“Did the guys help?” Auston asks, searching for anything to lessen his guilt. 

Mitch shrugs. “I was a little out of it between the drinks and the adrenalin,” he admits. 

“You don’t think he slipped you anything, right?” Auston asks, just to be sure. He remembers all too well the vacant look he found Mitch wearing. 

“No, I was just- I think I was shocked a little,” he whispers. 

Auston tries to pull him closer even though they’re already chest to chest. 

“I thought you weren’t coming at first,” Mitch admits. It’s terribly nonchalant, said with half of a humorless laugh. 

Auston’s arm tightens around him. The second he knew exactly what happened he wanted nothing more than to take them away, lock them somewhere safe in the woods or Caribbean to keep them together. 

“Why?” he asks, “I’d never leave you.” 

He may have been upset before they got to bar, but after hearing the problem Mitch was having wasn’t just something trivial, his chest ached to be there for him, to comfort him. 

Mitch shrugs, overly casual. “Just everything, with our fight and then, when we first got there, that guy almost pushed me over and you didn't even reach out to steady me. I thought you were done with me, with watching out for me,” he admits. 

Auston’s eyes are cloudy and as much as he fights it, he can’t stop the tears that fall. 

“Never, Mitchy,” he promises, voice broken. 

Against his chest Mitch squeezes him, hard. “I love you,” he says. 

Auston pulls his chin up gently, waiting until Mitch really looks at him and can see his vulnerability, his tear stained eyes. 

Mitch’s own blue, watery eyes trace his face almost disbelievingly. 

“I love you,” Auston promises back, and pulls Mitch closer to kiss him. 

They spend most of the night pressed together, some more of it talking, and for a while they both lay awake, blinking up at the ceiling. 

“Tomorrow will be better,” Auston whispers. 

Mitch’s hand finds his, giving it a squeeze. “Of course it will be, I’ll be with you,” he teases, purposely cliché. 

There’s enough truth, enough gentle softness in tone that Auston curls up along his back, holding him tight into sleep. 

He vows to himself that night that they’ll never go to bed angry with one another and he keeps his promise through to their wedding day, through to the day they sign adoption papers, and through to the days they grow old together.

**Author's Note:**

> comments feed the writer :)


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